31. Liliana
31
LILIANA
I fall forward with a gasp, my knees going on either side of Roman’s legs and my hands bracing on his shoulders. His hands go immediately to my hips.
“I would’ve made you come all night long, you know,” he growls quietly, his grip on me tightening. “I would’ve spent hours between your legs, making you come over and over again with my fingers, my mouth. My cock. I would’ve blown your mind, Liliana.”
Despite my anger at Roman’s defensive reaction to all this, my chest aches. Because I know it’s coming from a place of insecurity, and that he can’t help it.
“You blew my mind last week, too,” I say softly.
His throat moves on a swallow, doubt and another wave of fear entering his eyes.
“Let me show you,” he begs in a gravelly voice, pulling me the slightest bit closer. “Just one last time, let me show you what it would have been like that night.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. “Roman…” I whisper.
“Come on, Lily…” His hands guide my hips forward and back, just for a second, just enough that I can feel how hard he is beneath me, how bad he wants this. “You already requested my transfer, didn’t you?”
Guilt floods me. Because yes, I sent Fran an email this morning. I didn’t trust myself to do it in person and possibly break down crying. And yes, she approved the transfer instantly, the way she told me she would if it was ever needed. All I asked for is to be the one to tell Roman the news tonight.
I knew he wouldn’t handle it well, but this … I’m not sure I have the strength to put the brakes on, not with the way he’s looking at me.
I know Roman can see the answer in my eyes because there’s a flash of sadness before he nods and says, “Which means it’s not against the rules anymore. Not really.” He pulls me closer, our lips brushing as he forms the words. “Please, baby… Just let me touch you.”
I open my mouth to tell him we can’t, that this is the whole reason I can’t be his physical therapist anymore, but then his hand slides along the front of my pants, tugging at the drawstring bow in silent question. The gasp it forces from my lips also wipes every responsible thought from my brain.
“Roman,” I say on an exhale, my hips sliding forward of their own accord.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
And maybe this is how my relationship with Roman went too far. This web we weave around each other, inadvertently creating a reality where it’s just us. Where nothing else matters, and where I can’t imagine saying anything but?—
“Don’t stop.”
We both dive into the kiss with equal parts hunger and desperation. There’s no easing into it, no teasing or flirting. We both know what this is, and what this means. This is the last everything .
And that’s exactly what the kiss tastes like.
He coaxes my lips open, his tongue caressing mine in a way that has me whimpering and pulling myself closer. When I grind down on his lap, he makes a needy sound of his own and kisses me harder, his hands pulling frantically at the knot on my drawstring. And the moment his hand slips down the front of my pants and he realizes just how turned on I am, he groans into our kiss.
“ Fuck , Liliana,” he breathes, dragging his fingers through my wetness. “You’re so wet for me.”
I let out a moan that sounds like his name. I feel like I have no control over my body anymore, running solely on my need for Roman. Digging my nails into his shoulders, I pull myself closer and grind down harder on his hand.
The action seems to light a new level of fire within him. His hand tightens on my hip, while the other twists so he can press his thumb to my clit. He watches my face as he plays with speed and pressure, waiting for the moment that my chest starts heaving. And then he slides two fingers deep inside me.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, my eyes going wide. Pleasure coils between my legs, the perfect feeling of Roman pumping his fingers in and out making it spike quicker than I expected it to.
He bites out a curse. “Jesus, I can feel your pussy squeezing me,” he groans, his movements quickening.
I try to get impossibly closer, my lips brushing against his. His touch is one thing, but it’s his closeness that I want more of. I want more of him . That’s what’s going to set me off.
“Kiss me,” I whimper. “Kiss me like it’s?—”
He captures my mouth before I can even finish my sentence. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against his body, and he devours me exactly how I was craving. All while his fingers work me ceaselessly toward an explosive release.
“Come for me,” he begs. “Just give me that, Liliana. Send me home knowing I could make you happy for a while.”
My breath hitches at his words, but the pleasure is already taking over my body. The orgasm rolls through me, drowning me in wave after wave of euphoria as I moan his name, leaving me breathless and shaking in his arms.
“Beautiful,” he breathes.
With a stuttered exhale, I drop my forehead to his shoulder, trying to catch my breath. His hand starts to rub circles in a soothing rhythm on my back.
But when his hand bumps his armrest…he stops.
I pull back with a frown. And come face to face with Roman’s blank expression.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He shrugs, an arrogant smirk appearing on his lips. But I can tell he’s forcing it, his stiff posture making it obvious to me that he’s hiding something.
“You just came all over my fingers. Why would anything be wrong?” He raises his hand in front of his face, rubbing his thumb over the pads of his fingers and studying the wetness coating them. “And that was just my fingers. I bet the single dad couldn’t have even done that with his fully functional cock.”
I stiffen. He did not just say that…
I knew Roman was lashing out at me at the beginning of this conversation, but this is taking it too far. With unease slithering through my body, I climb off of his lap and right my clothes.
“That was a mistake,” I say, my tone hardening. I force myself to meet Roman’s eyes. “This is why I asked Fran to transfer you to a different therapist.”
And this is the moment that Roman’s walls crumble. Every facade, every defense he’s had up since we started this conversation…it disappears. And I see the true emotions hiding underneath.
Hurt. Fear. Panic.
But truthfully, I’m feeling all of those things right now, too.
“I’m sorry.” The words slip out before I can think through the apology. “I never wanted this to happen. I—” My voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat before I can continue. “I only ever wanted the best for you.”
“ You’re what’s best for me,” he bursts out. “ You made me better. You’re the only one who made me better. Liliana, please…” Another flash of fear in his eyes. “Please don’t leave me to do this alone.”
“Roman, I can’t ,” I say, pleading with him to understand. “This has gone way too far. It’s wrong on a hundred levels, and on top of that, we clearly don’t have enough self-control to keep it from happening again. There’s just no way I can stay on as your therapist.”
He knows I’m right. But he’s stubborn, and afraid, and already pushing back with a headshake.
I try to cut off his rebuttal by saying, “You’ll be okay with someone else, I promise. I’ll have Fran transfer you to someone who I know you’ll be able to work with, and without the distraction of…this, you’ll be on your feet in no time. You’ll see.”
“You’re delusional if you think that’s true,” he spits out angrily. “You know what a dozen failed therapists have taught me? That you were the secret to my success. There’s a reason you’re the only one I made real progress with.”
My desperation mounts. “Roman?—”
“I won’t work with anyone else,” he says sharply. “If you transfer me, I’ll stop doing my therapy. There won’t be any point.”
My eyes widen at the blunt threat. I knew he was going to push back, but this … this is the worst-case scenario reaction, and it’s one I didn’t prepare for.
But somehow, it’s also the thing that makes me realize, truly realize, that I’m doing the right thing. Because our relationship isn’t the only reason that we need to separate.
Roman also needs to stand on his own.
My voice softens as I say, “Then that’s even more of a reason for a transfer. Roman, I can’t be the only reason you want to walk. You have to want it.”
His gaze darts away, his throat moving on an audible swallow.
“I told you I’d carry the hope for you…and I meant it. I carried it. I’d carry it forever if I thought it was best for you. But Roman…I can’t carry you. I can’t be the only motivation in your life. It’s not healthy, it’s not sustainable, and it’s just not good for you.” I pull in a shaky breath for strength. “So whether you allow another PT to help you with your rehab is up to you, but you have to make the decision. No one else. Your life is in your hands now, Roman.”
When he still doesn’t meet my eyes, I chance a step forward. And then another, until I’m standing in front of him. With tears burning my eyes, I place a hand on the side of his face.
“So what are you going to do with it?” I ask. “Throw it away because some girl walked away from you? Or take control of it?”
Roman’s gaze jerks up and locks with mine. “You’re not just some g—” But he cuts himself off and clears his throat. I wait for him to say something else, but when he’s still silent a moment later, I realize the fear has frozen him in place.
My thumb brushes over Roman’s cheek, my heart breaking for him. It breaks for me, too, which is the reason I throw good judgment out the window one last time and lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Still, he remains frozen, though I can hear the squeak of his hands tightening on the armrests.
I meet his eyes as I pull back, wanting him to see every bit of sincerity in my words. “I hope you know you have something to offer the world, Roman. Wheelchair or not, fighter or not, you’re so much more than your injury.” I force myself to straighten. “I hope you realize that,” I add in a near-whisper, barely holding it together.
I take a step back, and then another.
He doesn’t try to stop me this time.